


Steady

by toyhto



Series: Everything Is Alright [3]
Category: Peaky Blinders (TV)
Genre: M/M, Post-Season/Series 05
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-23
Updated: 2020-03-23
Packaged: 2021-02-28 23:21:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,360
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23285431
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/toyhto/pseuds/toyhto
Summary: “Thank you,” Alfie says. This is the weirdest fucking shit he’s ever been in, and it’s not like there’s been a shortage of weird shit in his life. “Nice to meet you.”
Relationships: Tommy Shelby/Alfie Solomons
Series: Everything Is Alright [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1668835
Comments: 26
Kudos: 200





	Steady

**Author's Note:**

> I like Lizzie, as you might guess.
> 
> This is probably the last part of the series. I'm working on another Tommy/Alfie -story, though, so don't forget about me, guys. You can also say hi to me on [tumblr](http://toyhto.tumblr.com)!

He’s driven halfway to Birmingham when his hands start trembling. It’s fucking frustrating. He pulls the car over, gets out of the damn thing and spends a few minutes chopping the dandelions at the side of the road with his cane. He’s a fucking gangster, isn’t he, and he’s met up with other gangsters before, and he’s gone to those meetings with steady hands even though there’s been a good chance of ending up dead. There’s nothing special about this time, really, it’s just a gangster meeting another gangster, a normal kind of a day. There’s no fucking reason for his fucking hands to _tremble._  
  
Maybe this was what Rachel was thinking about when she offered to come with him. He hopes not, because it’d be fucking embarrassing, but then again, Rachel knows him pretty well. He told her she didn’t have to come, he’d be just fine, and maybe she could spend the time getting out of the house and making friends. She apparently didn’t like the suggestion because she put too much honey in his tea that evening. But the thing is, Alfie’s not going to be around forever, is he? And Rachel’s young and pretty, well, as far as a queer man with one proper eye can tell. Rachel could find someone and get a life, and most of all, there’s no need for her to come to babysit Alfie when Alfie visits his goddamn lover in his goddamn fancy house near to goddamn Birmingham.  
  
So, okay, he’s nervous. Tommy might be a gangster, but apparently he’s also Alfie’s lover, so is it a fucking wonder that Alfie’s not exactly calm about this visit? Because it doesn’t feel like he’s going to be threatened with the usual kind of stuff, torture and dismembering and all that. It feels like he’s going to be introduced to the family.  
  
 _Come here_ , Tommy said in the phone. _The weather’s good. We can go for a ride. I have a new horse._ Alfie told him that the weather’s never good two days in a row, so by the time he’d get there, it’d be a fucking snowstorm or something, and besides, he doesn’t fucking ride a horse. Tommy knows that, which is probably why he suggested it in the first place. And when Alfie had pointed all the facts out for him – the weather, not good; horses, not good – he just laughed and told Alfie he’d tell the maid Alfie’s coming. The _maid._ Alfie just fucking wishes he’s told his wife as well. Even though it’d be kind of poetical if Tommy’s wife was the next Shelby to shoot him in the face, right? Kind of poetical but not very pleasant.  
  
Well, there’s nothing he can do about that now. He keeps driving and his hands stop trembling, which is good, only his left knee starts trembling instead. Fucking hell. Maybe Tommy wants them both in the bed at the same time, which is just fucking impolite, because he knows Alfie doesn’t do women. He _knows_ that. And he also knows Alfie does pretty much everything he asks, so all this is really unfair. And lately, it’s been even more difficult for Alfie to say no to the fucking bastard. He supposes that’s because Tommy finally did what he asked and stabbed Oswald Mosley in the back. Metaphorically, which is a shame, but one can’t have everything, right?  
  
It’s late in the afternoon when he drives to the yard and stops the car in front of the house. It’s a nice afternoon. A nice light. In the trees and all. A lot of countryside, which isn’t exactly unpleasing for Alfie’s eye, not really. Maybe he’s gone soft now that he’s been dead for a while and living in fucking Margate. He gets out of the car and narrows his eyes at the boy with a fancy outfit who appears from nowhere, apparently to park the car for Alfie, as if he’s going to stay for a family dinner or something. The boy looks suitably scared but takes the keys anyway.  
  
“Alfie, stop scaring my staff.”  
  
“I’m doing nothing of the sort,” he says, turning to Tommy who’s standing in the doorway, thank god. If he had to have waited for Tommy to appear, he would’ve probably lost his nerve and fucked off. Now he makes himself walk to the door. Tommy doesn’t touch him and he doesn’t touch Tommy. How’s he supposed to know how this works here, anyway?  
  
“Just behave,” Tommy says, watching him. “I don’t want them to know what kind of company I keep.”  
  
“Oh, really?” he says. Goddamn, he wants to kiss Tommy so badly. It’s been a week. “Have they met you, mate?”  
  
Tommy rolls his eyes, then steps closer and pats Alfie on the arm. Alfie doesn’t inch. This visit is going to fucking kill him, isn’t it? He’s already wondering if it was too forward to push Tommy against the closest wall and kiss him breathless.  
  
“Okay,” Tommy says, and Alfie’s got to check that he didn’t say that aloud, which he didn’t. He thinks. But then it turns out there’re steps coming to them. A woman’s step. “Come in, Alfie. I want you to meet someone.”  
  
Bloody hell.  
  
“I suppose we’ve met at some point, Tommy.”  
  
“Not like this,” Tommy says, grabs Alfie’s arm and fucking pulls him inside, closes the door, and only lets go of Alfie when his wife is standing right there, in high heels and a pretty dress and with a look that suggests she’s not decided yet if Alfie’s going to live or die. “Here’s Lizzie. Lizzie, this is Alfie.”  
  
“I know,” she says and takes a cigarette, rubs it against her lips just like Tommy does, before she lightens the damn thing. “Welcome.”  
  
“Thank you,” Alfie says. This is the weirdest fucking shit he’s ever been in, and it’s not like there’s been a shortage of weird shit in his life. “Nice to meet you.”  
  
“You, too,” Tommy’s wife says, smiling wryly. Alfie knew she’s clever, so that’s not a surprise. But it kind of is that she can make him feel even smaller than angry Rachel.  
  
“Okay,” Tommy says, patting Alfie on the arm again, and Alfie almost fucking flinches. “Now that we’ve all met, I’m going to show Alfie around. You want to join us, Lizzie?”  
  
“Not at all,” she says, turns around and walks away. She looks like she owns the place, which she kind of does, of course. But if Alfie didn’t know better, he’d guess that she’d be a fancy lady of some sort, born in a castle and mildly disappointed at Tommy for only being able to acquire a house of this size.  
  
“She’s going to come around,” Tommy says.  
  
“Really.”  
  
Tommy glances at him. “She’s not the one who’s jealous. Come on, I’ll show you the house.”  
  
“I’ve seen the house before,” he says. It’s perhaps pointless to say that he’s not jealous, when Tommy already knows that he is.  
  
“The fuck you are,” Tommy says. “I’ll show you my bedroom.”  
  
He stares at Tommy for a few seconds, then clears his throat. It doesn’t help. He coughs a little and Tommy waits patiently as if this isn’t weird at all. “Your bedroom.”  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
“And where the fuck am I going to sleep, if I may ask?”  
  
“I think,” Tommy says slowly, “I think, in my bed.”  
  
“In your fucking bed.”  
  
“Yeah. But I can also give you a guestroom, if you like.”  
  
“And,” Alfie says, clearing his throat, “and where does your wife sleep?”  
  
“In her bedroom, I think,” Tommy says. “She thinks her mattress is better than mine. I don’t exactly agree but well, she knows her own mind.”  
  
“She knows her own mind –“  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
“She’s going to fucking shoot me in the face, Tommy.”  
  
“No,” Tommy says, smiling at him. “Okay, come here, we’re going upstairs. But keep your pants on for now. I want to go for a ride first, and we’re going to have dinner.”  
  
Alfie snorts. This is fucking madness.  
  
  
**  
  
  
“This is fucking madness,” he tells Tommy late in the evening, when they’re in Tommy’s bedroom and the door is closed. Tommy sits down on the edge of bed, undoes his tie and starts unbuttoning his shirt, and Alfie glances between him and the door. Maybe Lizzie is going to come with a gun any minute. Or maybe Tommy’s going to throw him out. But Tommy just takes his off tie and shrugs the shirt off his shoulders.  
  
“You can stand there,” Tommy says, not looking at him, “or you can sit down. I don’t think riding a horse did much good to your knee.”  
  
Riding a horse, yeah, well. That was madness, too. Alfie doesn’t have a fucking clue why he let Tommy take him to the stables to admire the horses, and okay, they’re pretty in their way, and he patted the beasts on the neck because that seemed to make Tommy happy. But then Tommy wanted him to ride a horse, and well, he should’ve said no. He didn’t. He let Tommy pick him a horse and then he got on the horse when Tommy told him to and let Tommy take him to a ride in the grounds around the house. It wasn’t totally unpleasant. It was almost bearable, because Alfie’s horse was lazy, and Tommy stopped looking worried for fucking once.  
  
But then Tommy made Alfie have dinner with his family. And that was just… that was surprisingly fine. Lizzie and Tommy argued about something Alfie didn’t get at all, but apparently it was about Tommy’s business, and Lizzie won the argument and looked smug for the rest of the dinner. Then Tommy talked about his horses, until Lizzie told him to shut up. After a short silence Alfie realised he had started talking about the weather. The fucking weather. To his lover and his lover’s wife. Fucking hell.  
  
“Tommy,” he says now but can’t figure out how to finish it.  
  
Tommy takes a deep breath and stops undressing for a moment. “Just sit down, Alfie.”  
  
“I don’t know what I’m doing here.”  
  
Tommy looks at him. Alright, he’s supposed to be a little angry at Tommy for putting him to this absurd situation, and also at putting him on a horse, but he can’t resist the temptation. He’s not touched Tommy at all today. He walks to Tommy, puts his hand on Tommy’s shoulder and pushes his fingers through Tommy’s hair. Tommy sighs.  
  
“Listen,” he says, stroking Tommy’s hair, “I fucking appreciate it that you want me here, I do, but I don’t get it. I just don’t get it. I can’t look your wife in the eyes.”  
  
Tommy snorts. “She’s got no difficulties looking you in the eyes.”  
  
“Well, she’s your fucking wife.”  
  
“Alfie,” Tommy says, grabs Alfie’s wrist and pulls Alfie’s hand away from his hair. He doesn’t let go, which kind of means that they’re holding hands now. Tommy stands up, puts his free hand on the back of Alfie’s neck and pulls Alfie close enough for a kiss. “Let me worry about Lizzie.”  
  
“I don’t think you’re doing a good job about it,” Alfie says, only he’s a little distracted now that he can feel Tommy’s breaths on his face.  
  
“She knows that we’re fucking.”  
  
“Yeah, well, I don’t think she wants me here.”  
  
Tommy kisses him on the mouth and then pushes him a few inches away. “We made a deal, Lizzie and me.”  
  
“You made a deal.”  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
“About me.”  
  
“About _me._ But she wanted to meet you. I suppose she wants to know your weaknesses. But don’t be too worried. I don’t think she’s ever killed anyone.”  
  
“Tommy,” Alfie says and kisses the bastard. “Tommy, why the fuck did you bring me here?”  
  
“I thought we might fuck.”  
  
“ _Tommy._ ”  
  
“You sound so disapproving,” Tommy says, fingers growing bolder on his neck, “so disapproving because I suggested fucking.”  
  
“I can’t fuck you in your _bed._ ”  
  
“Then jerk me off.”  
  
Alfie takes a deep breath. He can’t fucking _think_ when Tommy’s standing so close to him. And it’s goddamn absurd that _Alfie’s_ trying to be the voice of reason here, that Alfie’s the one who’s trying to point out that they’re in Tommy’s fucking _bedroom_ where Tommy’s supposed to fuck his _wife._ And he already knows he’s going to lose this battle. Just like in Margate, when Tommy kept flirting at him and telling him nothing was going to happen, and he just let Tommy do that for fucking months. Just like that.  
  
“I haven’t seen you in a week,” he tells Tommy.  
  
“Yeah, I know.”  
  
“And you brought me here.”  
  
“I did.”  
  
“So no one can blame me for wanting to fuck you.”  
  
“This is my house,” Tommy says. “You can fuck me in my fucking house.”  
  
“Even if I’m scared of your wife.”  
  
“Alfie,” Tommy says, pulls his hands away from Alfie’s neck and starts undoing his trousers. “If you don’t want to touch me, you can sit down and watch.”  
  
“Oh, for fuck’s –“  
  
Tommy grabs his cock through his pants. “What?”  
  
“And tomorrow,” Alfie says, even though he’s got trouble breathing, “tomorrow we’re all going to have breakfast together, is that it?”  
  
“Yes,” Tommy says and tugs Alfie’s pants to his knees.  
  
  
**  
  
  
At the breakfast, Alfie’s having a little trouble eating, which is partly because Lizzie’s watching him, and partly because Tommy’s still flushed from getting fucked half an hour before. It’s not exactly Alfie’s fault, really. He woke up in Tommy’s bed, Tommy’s arm wrapped around his chest, Tommy’s half-hard cock pressed against his thigh. The sun was peeking through the fancy curtains and outside he could hear the birds singing. There’s not much a man can do in those circumstances.  
  
“So, how did you sleep?” Lizzie asks now, and Alfie almost chokes on his sandwich. This is probably his punishment for taking his time with Tommy in the morning.  
  
He loses Tommy soon after breakfast. The surprising thing is that it hasn’t happened sooner. The house is so big and Tommy’s so tiny and also pretty quick when he wants to be. Alfie’s not terribly worried, no, Tommy will find him eventually. So, he decides to take a walk at the yard, and that’s where Lizzie walks to him.  
  
“Hello,” he says. He’s a polite man, even when he’s scared to death. “A nice morning.”  
  
“It’s going to rain,” Lizzie says and lights a cigarette. “Has he been sleeping?”  
  
“Who?”  
  
“Tommy,” she says, staring at Alfie like he’s an idiot. Maybe he is. Every goddamn evidence is pointing to that direction at the moment. “Has he been sleeping? Since he quit the nonsense with Mosley?”  
  
Alfie clears his throat, opens his mouth and closes it. It seems a bit bold to claim that Tommy would’ve been _sleeping_ , but alright, maybe the bastard’s slept a little more since the whole fucking thing with Mosley got finished.  
  
“Tell me,” Lizzie says, pointing the cigarette at Alfie but nicely. The gesture is very much something that Tommy might do. “I’m not going to shoot you in the face or anything.”  
  
Alfie almost snorts. “That’s a relief.”  
  
“Even though I suppose you’re into that,” Lizzie says, which is kind of fair, all things considered.  
  
“I think he sleeps a bit more.”  
  
“But not enough.”  
  
Alfie bites his lip. He obviously shouldn’t ask. But what the hell. “Don’t you know how he’s sleeping?”  
  
“I don’t like his bed,” Lizzie says, “mine has a better mattress, and I’ve got this ache in my back. And really, he’s a fucking nightmare to sleep with. I don’t know which is worse, that I don’t wake up when he does and then when I do, he’s disappeared or sitting in the corner, high on laudanum and staring at me like he’s not sure I’m real. Or that I wake up when he does and can’t fucking fall asleep anymore.”  
  
“Yeah,” Alfie says and clears his throat. “That’s… yeah.”  
  
“The kids are clever enough that they’re losing their trust in him. And it’s breaking my fucking heart.”  
  
Alfie takes a deep breath. It really looks like it’s going to rain soon. “I thought he was getting better.”  
  
Lizzie looks at him over the cigarette. “He’s a bit better when he’s been with you.”  
  
“What?”  
  
“That’s why I wanted to see you. I wanted to see if it’s about you or if it’s… I don’t know, if he’s just excited to fuck a man or something like that. Because, you know, it’s a bit like he’s trying to do every fucking thing that’s illegal.”  
  
That kind of makes sense. _Shit._  
  
“I think it’s about you,” Lizzie says, and Alfie tries very much to hide how relieved he is. “I think he’s not afraid that he’s going to break you. That’s why it’s easier for him to be with you.”  
  
“He’s afraid he’s going to break _you?_ ”  
  
“I know,” Lizzie says, smiling a little. “What an idiot.”  
  
“Yeah,” Alfie says.  
  
“I kind of love him, though.”  
  
“Yeah,” Alfie says. “Me, too.”  
  
“I think he should cut down the laudanum.”  
  
“Yeah, yeah. Me, too.”  
  
“But I’m very glad you made him get rid of Mosley.”  
  
Alfie shakes his head. “I didn’t make him do it. I tried. But I can’t fucking make him do anything. He did it for himself.”  
  
“No, he didn’t. It was for you. Because you were jealous.”  
  
“Did he tell you that?”  
  
“No,” Lizzie says, watching him, “you did, just now. You have a very expressive face, Mr. Solomons.”  
  
Alfie realises he’s kind of smiling. “Well, thank you very much, Mrs. Shelby.”  
  
“And I hope you know,” Lizzie says, “that he usually disappoints everyone in the end. He does impossible things, he messes everything up and then somehow fixes it but then he messes up again, and it’s worse every time.”  
  
“Yeah,” Alfie says, “yeah, I know.”  
  
“He tries to stop doing it,” Lizzie says, “but he can’t.”  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
“Maybe he’s cursed.”  
  
“No,” Alfie says slowly, “no, I think it’s the war, and his fucking personality.”  
  
“You’re an optimistic.”  
  
“That’s not optimism. That’s a fucking death sentence.”  
  
Lizzie looks at him for a long while. He looks back at her. She’s pretty, but then again, what does he know of women, what the hell, indeed.  
  
“You should learn how to ride a horse,” Lizzie says after a long silence. “He’d like that.”  
  
“Okay,” Alfie says.  
  
“And don’t break his heart,” Lizzie says, “because he’ll be a mess, and I can’t deal with him being a mess. I want him whole.”  
  
“Oh, no,” Alfie says, “I’m not going to break his heart. He’s going to break mine.”  
  
Lizzie smiles at him and then walks away, leaving him in the yard. He pushes his hands into the pockets and stares at the house. It seems possible he just told Tommy’s wife that the bastard’s going to break his heart.  
  
  
**  
  
  
“I’ll come to you in the weekend,” Tommy says, when Alfie’s about to leave. They’re at the yard already, Lizzie’s nowhere to be seen, one of the servants has brought Alfie’s car and is now politely not staring at them, and Tommy’s kind of stroking Alfie’s arm. This is madness, but this is exactly the kind of madness Alfie wants to get pulled into.  
  
“Make sure that you do,” he tells Tommy, “or else I’m going to call your wife.”  
  
Tommy blinks. Well, if the bastard’s not yet realised that it was a bit bad for him to introduce his wife and his lover to each other, it’s high time. They’re going to fucking do their best to make Tommy quit laudanum and relax once in a while and fucking _sleep_ , aren’t they, Lizzie and him. He pats Tommy on the cheek and thinks about kissing the idiot, but well, maybe it’s better not to push too much, even though Tommy’s looking at him like he wishes Alfie would. Push, that is. Maybe for half an hour, in the fancy bedroom upstairs.  
  
“See you later,” Alfie says and walks to his car.  
  
When he drives away, his hands are steady.


End file.
